


Fear Won't Rule My Heart Tonight

by meditationsinemergencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Christmas fic, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Frank O'Hara - Freeform, New Years Eve, Otis Redding, Poetry, Post-War, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Content, Snark, While You Were Sleeping - Freeform, While You Were Sleeping AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21559441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/pseuds/meditationsinemergencies
Summary: Hermione has not a crush on but a fascination with the quiet, handsome Theodore Nott. When a nasty explosion in his potions lab sends him unconscious to St. Mungos, Hermione lies and says she's his fiancee. As Theo lay in a coma, Hermione becomes entangled with the Nott family, including one very unexpected person -- Draco Malfoy.A take on the adorable romantic-comedy While You Were Sleeping.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Comments: 68
Kudos: 184
Collections: Pen15 is Mightier Holiday Gift Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadameFire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameFire/gifts).



> Many thanks to everyone who was willing to listen to me rant about this piece incessantly. 
> 
> My title is from Lake Street Dive's song "I Can Change" off of Free Yourself Up, which has so many songs that I feel are applicable. 
> 
> This piece was written for the 2019 Pen15isMightier gift exchange!
> 
> Thank you for @adavison for doing a quick beta for me!

**\--December 23rd, 2003--**

"Granger?"

Hermione spun around at the familiar voice behind her. Her face fell. Her heart rate quickened. 

The tall, slender, pale, blond man let out a low chuckle as he shook his head. 

"What exactly…" he trailed off, waving his hands as he stepped into the small room in St. Mungo's. "Merlin, Granger, what is going on?"

Slipping a bookmark into the pages of her novel, Hermione stood from the chair she was sitting in, smoothing out her skirt. 

"I, uh, goodness. I need to be off." 

Draco stood in front of the doorway, blocking her. "Oh, no, Granger. You're not getting out of this that easily." Raising his eyebrows, he nodded his head towards the bed where Theo was lying, unconscious. "You're going to explain to me why people seem to believe that you, the brightest-witch of her age, the glue of The Golden Trio, are engaged to be wed to Theodore Nott.”

Hermione took a deep breath and shut her eyes. 

"I…" she blew out of hard breath, moving some of her curls out of her face which was flushed with embarrassment.

"A few days ago, I was going down to his department at work to inquire about the misuse of a particular potion on a house elf. I'm working on a particularly nasty case where a wizard has been using a potion on his…"

Draco cut her off, "Saint Granger. Please, spare me the boring details of your profession, will you?"

Furrowing her brow she continued, "Anyway, it was after-hours and the only person there was Theo. He was in the middle of working on a potion of sorts, when there was a horrid explosion. Theo was knocked onto the ground, and I called up a mediwitch. They brought him here. I followed them here, but no one would let me in unless I was of a particular relation, so I lied. Okay? I needed to see how he was. But then, by Godric, his mother and his grandparents show up. The mediwitch told them, before they even came into the room that I, his fiance, was with him. They were so worried about him; they had been so worried about him, apparently he hasn't spoken to them much recently, and, well, frankly, they seemed _relieved_ that he had someone. And, goodness Draco, they don't know if he's going to be okay! And, well, they were already so worried, I couldn't break the news to them that I wasn't his fiance. They were already upset enough!"

Hermione stopped, took a breath, and let her arms flop down by her sides. 

Draco, hands in his pockets, stepped forward, closer to her. "Okay…" he said slowly, "so, you just plan on keeping up this...this charade until when? Last I heard, you planned on spending tomorrow night, Christmas Eve, Granger, of all bloody nights, with his mum and grandparents and whomever else is that their _family_ Christmas Eve party. Which, might I add, Theo hasn't gone to in years. Did you know that? Do you know anything about him, Granger? Anything at all?"

Hermione gulped. "I know his mum misses him, and he's been quite rude to not call her and visit her more often. It's not as if he lives far away. She's a lovely woman. She's been through a lot with his father's trial and so on. What he put her through being a Death Eater." She spat the word out with distaste, and Draco unknowingly moved a hand to rest on his forearm.

"Yes. She is a nice woman. I spend a lot of time over there to try to makeup for Theo's... lacking. That's besides the point, woman. Don't you have your own family to be with anyhow? Do your parents know about your newly sordid relationship with the Nott family?" 

She gulped, and Draco noticed her face go pale. 

"I...no...they...my parents aren’t..no, they don't, Malfoy. I have to go."

She stormed past him. Knocking her shoulder against his arm as she went. Draco watched her go, her pace quick and her head hanging low, curls following to hide her face. 

Draco rubbed his arm where she had knocked against his arm. He kicked himself in the ass for being an ass. He knew what had happened to her parents; why he’d ask her about her parents, he didn’t know. Why his default was to put up his shields and be a royal jerk, he didn’t know. 

He took the seat where Hermione had been sitting. He propped his feet up on Theo’s bed, with his toe he nudged him slightly, “You really in a coma, mate? Or are you just loving this attention? Granger. Hermione Granger doting over you.” He let his foot fall off the bed and back onto the floor with a resounding thud, rested his hands in his lap, and thought. 


	2. Chapter 2

**\--December 1st, 2003 (Three Weeks Prior)--**

Hermione Granger and Theodore Nott knew _of_ each other. They did not know each other. Theo, of course, knew Hermione. She’s Hermione Granger, after all. Her face is splattered against The Daily Prophet, Witchy Weekly, and other various periodicals and magazines constantly. Theodore Nott was a quiet Slytherin in the same year as her; they both worked for The Ministry of Magic, but they never exchanged more than: “Hello, how are you?” “I’m well. Thank you.” Formal. Professional. Cold. 

This, however, didn’t stop Hermione from pining over Theo. She had no good reason for this other than that he seemed as dedicated to his job as her -- he was often at work early and late, he was quiet and reserved, and he was absurdly, ridiculously, painfully handsome. He was dark and tall. He reminded her in many ways of Krum. One thing she liked the most about him was that he didn’t seem to treat her any differently because of who she was. It was difficult to navigate life as a war-hero. 

Hermione didn’t want to date Theo. Hermione didn’t have time for dating, but she did like to look at him and to occasionally let her mind wander to him in the quiet moments before she fell asleep. 

Her relationship with Ron ended as quickly as it began, and she simply hadn’t had the time to invest in dating; she also simply didn’t want to. 

Regularly, she was inundated with owls from wizards asking to take her out. This usually occurred after an article was run on Harry or Ron and their marriages and their growing families. Regardless of the boys’ new news, these articles seemed to take a turn towards the end inquiring: _What is wrong with Hermione Granger? Why is she still single? Are there no wizards good enough for the last single member of The Golden Trio?_

Hermione rarely read these articles, but she knew when they’d been published based on the influx of owls following. She got lots of love letters, some very sweet, some very odd, and some very naughty. She couldn’t help but examine the moving pictures she received, but as appealing as some of them were, she still wasn’t interested. 

Eventually, she thought, she’d venture out into the dating world, once she was more settled into her job, once she had a few more cases under her belt, until then, though, she was happy to admire Theo whenever she glanced him at work. 

He worked on the level below her, and, so, as they both seemed to work early mornings and late into the evenings, she would see him on the elevator. A few times she had been in need of someone from his department, Experimental Charms and Potions, but each time she had spoken with someone else. She’d never engaged Theo in more conversation than was necessary. 

When Hermione needed to speak with someone in ECP one Thursday evening, it was late, and she almost assumed no one would be down there. A rather cruel older wizard seemed to be poisoning his house elf by mixing potions. Hermione, unaware of the best antidote for the house elf, and what affects the two prior potions might cause on the elf, she made her way down a level to speak with someone. It appeared to be empty, only the sounds of her heels clicking in the hallway, until she heard a loud explosion down the hall. She broke into a run, and into the room she suspected to be where the explosion came from. There, on the floor, was Theodore Nott. 

Theo was covered in blood and what appeared to be some liquid residue from the potion he had been working on, and he was convulsing quite violently. Unsure of what ingredients he had been working with, there was nothing Hermione could do to help. She sent her patronus to St. Mungo’s for a mediwitch. Upon their arrival, they took Theo to St. Mungo’s, leaving Hermione behind in the mess of his laboratory. Hermione being, well, Hermione, she had to follow; she had to know if Theo was okay.

Stepping onto the ward where she thought Theo would be, the mediwitch refused to let her in. 

“We’re sorry, Miss Granger, but as you are not a familial relation to Mr. Nott, we cannot let you back there.”

Hermione felt annoyed and a bit emotional and a little angry. She had found the man afterall. She needed to know how he was. She needed to know he was okay. She needed to see him. 

Looking back on it now, Hermione isn’t sure what pushed her to lie. Perhaps it was because she liked to entertain the idea that one day, at a time that was coincidentally perfect for her in every way, Theo would ask her to dinner. Maybe this was when they were together on the elevator. He would clear his throat, adjust his robes, and turn to her, with his chocolate-brown eyes large and dark, and say, “Hermione, this probably seems completely out of the blue, but would you like to have dinner with me? Tonight. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve wanted to ask for so long.” Hermione would flush, but she would seem calm and cool and collected, “Yes! I’d love to have dinner with you, Theo.” From there, they would spend evening after evening together, then eventually weekends together. Theo would understand how important her career was to her. Theo would understand that she worked long hours. Theo would simply _understand._

So,yes, perhaps that is why Hermione Granger lied to the mediwitch.

“Theodore Nott is my fiance. I need to see him. You will let me in to see him now.”

The mediwitch seemed stunned, she seemed the type who read lots of Witch Weekly, “Miss Granger, I apologize. I didn’t think you had ...I didn’t know. I apologize, again. Of course you can go.”

“Of course you didn’t know. I don’t flaunt my private life just because people expect it of me. Now, what room is he in?”

Walking down the hallway of the hospital Hermione ran her hands over her face. _Well, fuck. Why did you go and make-up that lie, Hermione? You probably could have gotten in if you had worked a little harder. Talked to a few more mediwtiches. Someone would have let you in eventually. You’re Hermione Granger. No, you had to go lie and say he was your fiance. Stupid, Hermione. Just stupid._

The next several hours were fine. She watched medi witches come in and out to clean Theo up and heal his wounds. However, it was determined he was in a state of comatose, and they weren’t sure when he would wake up, if he would at all. 

Hermione felt she had done all she could do here. She would go back to work. She would go into his lab, and she would send information on what he was working with over to the hospital. Once she left, she didn’t need to come back. She could easily get herself out of this whole fiance debacle. There was no one else around the mediwitch when she had said. She was fine, and then she wasn’t fine. 

She heard the voice of a woman coming down the hall, “What is wrong with my Theo? What has happened? What do you mean coma? For how long? Merlin! What was he working on? Who found him? His what? His fiance? Theo has a fiance?” 

Hermione’s stomach dropped at the word. She couldn’t make an escape. There was no way out. And then suddenly, upon her was the woman in question -- Theodore Nott’s mother. 

\--

It was simple, really: Theo's mum, Evelyn, was wonderful. She had a deep sadness about her, but she tried to hide it. She was doting and affectionate. She seemed to be deeply concerned for her son, not just his health but everything else that had been going on in his life before the accident.

Edmund Nott had been a Death Eater in the first war, and he felt as if he had no choice in the second war. By the second war, Evelyn was deeply concerned for the safety of her husband, but also for that of Theo. She knew what Voldemort had asked of the Malfoys, she knew what had been placed upon Draco. Evelyn was never comfortable with her husband being a Death Eater, but it seemed like Slytherin Pure Blood families had little choice in the matter. Edmund thought he was doing what was best for his family the first and the second time it was asked of him. 

Edmund was killed in the second war, and Evelyn and Theo never quite recovered from this. Their relationship was strained. Theo thought the best way to cope -- to deal with having a Death Eater for a father, was to separate himself from his family altogether, to build a life for himself apart from them. He also believed that his mother suffered a great deal during the war on his behalf, as she made his father take the Unbreakable Vow that he would not allow Theo to become a Death Eater. Theo believed that this was the root of why his father was killed. His father’s death was, ultimately, both his and his mother’s fault. 

For Evelyn, the presence of Hermione initially seemed bizarre, but she quickly put it out of her mind. Evelyn, despite her many acquaintances and large extended family, was largely alone. She clung to Hermione because of the warmth she seemed to radiate, and Hermione did the same to her. Hermione longed for the affection of a mother again, and Evelyn was willing to give her just that. 

After the war, Hermione went to Australia to find her parents, to restore their memories. Hermione was unable to. Her memory charm was too effective it seemed, and the Grangers would never know Hermione existed. Hermione spent many months after putting more effort into not crying all day than she did into anything else. Despite her failed relationship with Ron, Hermione still had the Weasleys and she still had Harry and his growing family; however, as each Weasley child found their respective partners and wed and had babies, Hermione grew further and further away from them. She had been, as it were, completely alone until now. Until she happened upon Theo’s accident and was somehow, suddenly, part of the Nott family -- for now, always _for now_ she had to remind herself.


	3. Chapter 3

**\-- August 7th, 2003 -- (4 months prior)**

Draco put his quill back into it's Never-Ending Ink Pot, and let out a deep sigh. Opening the bottom drawer on the left side of his desk, he pulled out an envelope. It’s front read nothing, but he knew what was inside and who it was for. 

Standing up, he runs his hands down his trousers, smoothing them out. Envelope in hand, Draco steps out of his small auror office. He knows where he's going; it's just around the corner and three doors down on the left. 

It doesn't matter that Draco and Harry have worked together for years now; it doesn't matter that they have worked cases together. They get along just _fine_. They aren't chummy. They aren't friends. They just aren't enemies.

Harry's office door is, as always, open. He never shuts it. He can never shut it, even when he wants to. Draco's heard Harry explaining that he can't shut anyone out; he cannot deny anyone what they may need from him. People still drop by the office to admire Harry, which Harry doesn't like, but he also understands people's need to do so. 

Draco, on the other hand, likes to keep his door shut, as often as he can. He likes to be left alone, and, most importantly, he doesn't like to subject himself to any scrutiny. Despite the years separate from the war, despite him being cleared of all charges, despite everything he's worked to do to redeem himself, people can still be absolute shits to him. 

Despite being open, Draco knocks before peering around the edge of the doorway. 

"Potter," he says with a nod to Harry. 

Harry looks up from his desk, pushes his glasses back up his nose and smiles broadly, "Malfoy! What can I do for you?"

"May I have a seat?"

Harry's facial expression changes slightly, picking up on Draco's uneasiness. "Oh, uh, yes, of course." 

He motions towards the chair in front of his desk. The chair pulls itself out slightly, inviting Draco to sit. 

Draco sits, rubs his leg with his free hand. He glanced at Harry's desk. Moving pictures of Harry and Ginny, Ginny and their newest baby, the baby. Draco feels a tinge of longing in his gut.

"Potter. I have something that I think should belong to you." He slides the envelope onto Harry's desk. Harry reaches out and touches it, pulling it towards him. 

Draco's eyes still linger on the photographs on Harry's desk. 

"As you probably know, as Severus Snape's godson, I was left all his possessions, which means I was tasked with going through all his possessions and cleaning out his home. Earlier this summer, I found these. I waited to give them to you in case I found more.." 

Harry, in typical Harry fashion, quickly tore into the envelope. He didn't use a letter opener or anything. Draco mentally scoffed at this. In his eagerness, photographs, magical and muggle, fell onto his desk. 

Within the mix of photographs were pictures of Lily and Petunia Evans, Lily Evans alone, a few of Lily and Severus, and, shockingly, some of Lily and his father, and one, that caught Harry’s breath, one of him, not more than a few weeks old, and his parents. 

“Why did…” Harry trailed off

“The earlier ones, he and your mother clearly knew each other as children. Did you know that?” Harry recalled that not many people knew about Snape’s past and his relationship with Lily Evans. Harry just shook his head “no” and Draco continued, “I don’t know why he had the one of both your parents, but there’s a note with the one of you as a baby.”

Harry flipped the photograph over, attached to the back, with magical-like tape was a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, he scanned an emotionally dense, but brief letter -- which, more or less, was Lily wanting Snape to know that she cared about him, she wished him well, and she wanted to share the news of her new baby, who had made her realize how precious and fragile life is. 

Harry ran his thumb against the photo. His father looking lovingly at his mother, his mother looking lovingly at him, and him, asleep in her arms. This picture, now that he was a father himself, meant more than Draco could have begun to understand. 

Draco stood up from his seat, he eyed the photograph of Harry, Ron, and Hermione again. It was recent. They were laughing. Hermione, in the middle, had her head thrown back slightly, her curls bounced around as she laughed, her eyes crinkling slightly in the corners with her laughter. 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he nodded toward the photograph, “How are they?”

Harry looked up, “Who? Ron and Hermione?”

Draco, losing his impatience with Harry, as he so often did, nodded, “Yes. Them. How _are_ they?”

Shrugging, “Ron is great; he’s happy. He loves working with George.” He began to bob his head back in forth in thought, “Hermione however….” 

Draco raised his eyes to meet Harry’s. Draco couldn’t not immediately envision Hermione, being tortured on the floor of his childhood home by his blood, whenever her name was spoken, and his stomach always lurched at the memory. 

“She, uh, she’s Hermione. If you know what I mean?”

Draco shook his head, “no”. Draco, did, however have some idea as to what Harry meant, but he needed details.

“She works non-stop. It’s rare for her to spend time with anyone anymore. After everything with her parents, she sort of you know, secluded herself off. Overwhelmed with guilt or despair or both, rather.” 

Draco knew about her parents, but he didn’t know the details. He would see the headlines in the Daily Prophet, but he avoided reading the Daily Prophet on moral belief. 

“What exactly happened?”

“Uh..well, it was all in the Pro…”

“I don’t read that trash, Potter,” Malfoy snapped.

“Okay, Malfoy. Relax. Before we went hunting horcruxes, Hermione obliviated her parents. She knew that you all, I mean, I’m sorry, she knew the Death Eaters would come looking for them when they couldn’t find her or me. Being Hermione, she did quite an effective job. Always the over-achiever. After the war, the three of us went to Australia, where she’d sent them off to, and she was unable to recover their memories. She couldn't reverse her spell: She is alone. She has no aunts or uncles. No grandparents. She has parents, but they don’t know she even exists. She has me and Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, but she has no one of her own. No one to call home.”

Draco felt his heart plummet into his bowels. He understood this. He knew what it felt like to no longer have a home. His family home was stained with memories of torture and murder. His father in prisoner; his mother estranged -- this last bit of his own doing, he assumed that one day they’d make amends, but Draco needed time. 

“Thank you, Potter,” and Draco turned to leave Harry’s office.

“Thank you for the pictures.”

As Draco stepped into the hallway, Harry’s voice beckoned him back, “Why?”

Draco looked over his shoulder, “Why what?”

“Why give me the photos? Why ask about how Ron and Hermione are doing? Why the interest in Hermione’s parents?”

“Those pictures are yours, Potter. No one else should have them. As for the others, Weasley and I never got along, but our relationship was mutually strained. Hermione, however, I owe Hermione something. I owe her more than I owe anyone else for my moral indiscretions.” 

Before Harry could reply, Draco strode off swiftly. 

Leaving Harry to muse over the photographs scattered across his desk.


	4. Chapter 4

**\-- December 24th, 2003 --**

Hermione loved Christmastime. She loved the warmth of it all, and the incongruous nature with it and what was occurring outside. 

She loved to walk outside in the snow flurries caught in the tangles of her curls, and steal glances into the houses where gatherings occurred, to watch friends, family members, or complete strangers embrace one another in joy and fellowship; she loved to peer into the windows of shops where people, still bundled up from being outside moments before, ran their fingers along rows of books, traced the edges of bowls full of luxurious bath items, fondled vials of potions or potion ingredients with a shimmer in their expression as they thought of their giftee.

The holiday oozed a warmth that made the biting cold seem like a gift in itself. She loved how she felt when she stepped inside, the immediate sensation of her nose beginning to toast. She loved how she felt when she stepped outside, the air hitting her cheeks, cooling them down from the fire, the treats, and the libations. 

Stepping into the Nott home on Christmas Eve, she was filled with the same feeling. Her concern of Draco Malfoy outing her to everyone at the party, of Theo waking up at any moment, of her own conscious nagging her that it was all just a farce, quickly melted away as she shed her cloak.

Mrs. Nott decorated in such a way that made Hermione unsure of what to gaze at in awe first: the floating Christmas baubles shimmering above her, the ever present scent of cinnamon and evergreen, the blooming arrangement of amaryllis and poinsettias, the enormous Christmas tree with ornaments and tree lights buzzing about and changing their shape and color.

Moments into walking in, she was handed a drink by Mrs. Nott who leaned in to kiss Hermione on the cheek, “Oh, dear. I’m so glad you made it.” 

Hermione glowed, “I wouldn’t have missed this. This is absolutely stunning Mrs. Nott.”

“Evelyn, my dear. Call me Evelyn.”

Hermione’s smile softened, “Evelyn, it’s beautiful.”

They'd barely moved from the doorway, when it opened behind them, and a gust of cold air hitting Hermione's bare arms.

Draco knew immediately who was standing with Evelyn in the entrance of the Nott home. Her hair, though magicked into sleek, ringlets, was still wild with its curls. The magicked baubles in the hallway bounced light off of her honey-chestnut spirals illuminating the colors. She wore a top that was black, sleeveless, and made of a flattering knit tucked into an emerald-green satin skirt that bore a high-low hem. It had pockets, Draco noted, as Hermione's free hand, the one not clutching a drink, was stuffed inside and fiddling with something. Hermione had charmed both both with an extendable charm. (She found pockets in skirts and dresses quite refreshing to wear when paired with this charm, as she needn't bother with a handbag.) 

As she turned to see who had entered, he allowed himself to admit what a sight she was: Her long dark eyelashes, the chocolate-brown of her eyes with flecks of gold, a smattering of freckles on her left temple, several rouging her cheek bones, and a few on the bridge of her nose; her mouth, when resting, was home to soft mauve lips, and the way her curls were carefully tucked behind her left ear with tendrils escaping their place, felt, to him, like the perfect representation of her. 

But then, she noticed who he was, and her expression changed from relaxed and pleasant, to one of concern and discontent, and before he could continue to admire her, she pulled her drink to her lips and Evelyn began to speak. 

"Draco!" said Mrs. Nott as she leaned into embrace the man and kissed his cheek. 

With her hand resting on his back, she gestured toward Hermione, "I'm sure you know Hermione Granger…"

Draco scoffed at her in his head.  _ Of course _ . _ Who doesn't? _

" _ She  _ is our Theo's fiancee!" Evelyn continued, "I'm sure you knew that though, even with them keeping it private. You and Theo are practically brothers." 

Draco looked at Evelyn and then to Hermione and then his face lit up.

" _ Fiancee _ ?" He let out a roar of a laugh and ran his fingers through his hair. "Theo, the old dog, he didn't tell me a bloody thing, Evvie. I had no clue! Congratulations are in order when he wakes up, I must say. When did he propose?" the question was directed at Hermione.

Hermione began to stammer nervously. She suddenly wasn't at all certain what she had told Mrs. Nott in the hospital. 

Before she could speak Evelyn saved her, "Oh! Just right before his accident. How unfortunate. Isn't it? I have faith in our healers though. Now, if you'll excuse me, you two, I need to mingle." 

She walked away leaving Draco, still smiling widely, with Hermione, mouth slightly agape. 

"Aye now, Mrs. Nott. Wait, no, you'll still keep Granger, won't you?" he stepped closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder in a jovial, brotherly way, and he led her to the next room. 

Hermione didn't respond. She was in the rare situation of being at a loss for words.

"Alright. We'll go with Mrs. Granger-Nott for fun…"

"Please, Draco. Just call me Hermione."

"No, no. That's no fun. You're about to be married!"

She rolled her eyes, "Whatever," she mumbled.

"Okay. Okay. Seeing as how our boy is out cold right now, I'd expect that he'd expect me to introduce you to everyone, is that what you'd expect he'd expect?" He laughed at himself before continuing, "You know, make sure everyone sees and meets you. Get to know the friends and family. Okay! So, first on our list will be…" Draco scanned the room. "Oh! Perfect!" He pointed to a short, portly man with a large beard and small tortoise shell glasses,"Uncle Hammond." 

Draco leaned down towards her, pressing his voice against her skin so only she could hear, "It's best if we meet him early in the night. After he's had too many…" Draco took Hermione's glass from her hand, swirled it about it, and took a sip, "...of these...by Salazar! Evvie makes a strong drink. Anyway, he's a right pain in the arse to talk to. He's also a bit handsy, so let's keep me between you and him."

The evening seemed to pass in a blur for Hermione. Draco shuffling her from person to person and around and throughout the party -- she shook hands and kissed cheeks alongside Draco; they clinked champagne flukes and clanked tumblers with heady cocktails; they laughed for the amusement of others and then laughed amongst themselves as he whispered anecdotes about people they met in her ear. 

His arm was first thrown across her shoulder, his hand not touching her; he let it wave about in the air as he spoke and hung limply against nothing, but as the evening progressed his arm fell and his hand found a comfortable spot on the small of her back. Hermione felt a small tingle run up her spine at the touch and pressure of his hand. His palm was large, and she felt it’s warmth through the material of her skirt. Upon touching the emerald skirt Draco paused. He stepped away from her for a moment, removing his hand and the warmth that went along with it. He appeared to be assessing her. 

“Why, Hell, Granger, you’re wearing Slytherin colors! Don’t let the Prophet catch sight of the garnet and gold Gryffindor in green and silver.” 

Hermione looked puzzled, “I’m not wearing any silver. And, it’s Christmas! Emerald is an entirely appropriate color to wear on the holiday, even if it is unfortunately associated with Slytherin. It’s not the color's fault.” She smirked a little at this; she felt comfortable enough now, this far into the evening. 

The hair that had been tucked behind Hermione’s ear had, once again, escaped, and Draco reached forward twisting the tendrils in his fingers and gently tucking them behind her ear. He let his fingers linger and gently tapped the silver hoop in her ear. “There’s your silver,” he said with a wink before beckoning her on through the party. 

Hermione watched him walk ahead of her, and through her firewhiskey-fuzzed brain tried to assess what was going on. Draco knew her secret about Theo, and she wasn’t quite sure if they were genuinely having a good time together or if he was putting her on. Hermione knew that Draco and Harry worked together and got along decently; they’d even shared a few cases together. Most importantly, she knew Draco had worked hard to separate himself from the shadow of his past. 

Unlike Draco, Hermione did read the Prophet, it was important to her to know what was being said, even if some of it was heinous slander. The useful articles were hidden within the depths of the paper, and that was where she learned things about Draco. 

Of course, occasionally, Draco was on the front page. When Draco had given an unnamed amount of money to help rebuild Hogwarts and then gave money to organizations for families suffering after the war, they scandalized his good deed as his way of buying out the Wizengamot and clearing his record. Hermione had gone into work the next day and put the sleuthing from her school days to good use. She managed to find Draco’s trial records. The Ministry had begun to use the pensieve as a means of keeping record of trials -- memories stored and saved by magic were hard to misinterpret and it didn’t allow for much subjectivity. Hermione watched, over and over, Draco’s trial. The first time, she was just curious. The second time and third time were for a more complicated reason. 

Draco, did not deny his part in the war or his role as a Death Eater, and while Draco’s crimes on paper were not that of other Death Eaters, Draco believed them to be just as criminal. Draco pleaded guilty -- he asked for no remorse, and he asked for no mercy; he was willing and ready to take his sentence in Azkaban. 

On trial, Draco was given Veritaserum. Draco confessed to nothing that they could send him to Azkaban for, but he confessed quite a lot, nonetheless. Per law, they had to let the Veritaserum run its course and they had to let him keep talking. There was, after all, the chance that he may reveal something incriminating, and the Wizengamot wanted nothing more than to condemn as many Death Eaters as they could. Throughout his testimony, Draco didn’t cry or grovel, Hermione thought he seemed more angry than anything else, angry at his father, angry at his mother, angry at his whole family, and deeply angry at himself. Near the end, however, an older witch on the Wizengamot leaned forward to ask Draco a question, “Mr. Malfoy, it is evident that you, as an underage wizard at the time, were negatively and falsely influenced to believe the lunacies of a sick, demented wizard. You seem to display deep remorse for your actions while you were a Death Eater, but can you tell me, Mr. Malfoy, what do you regret the most?” 

Without hesitation, as if the Veritaserum needed no time to sift through several memories and moments from the past several years, he uttered, “Hermione Granger” and began to cry. Hermione, her face sitting in the pool of memory, herself, began to cry. 

She pulled out to catch her breath. She wasn’t sure why this had impacted her so, to hear her name on the lips of a boy, now a man, who had hated her for so long because of her blood. It took several slow breaths before she could put her face back into the pensieve, but when she did, she was glad she’d given herself the previous moment. 

“ _ The _ Hermione Granger, Mr. Malfoy?”

He nodded, tears, which he hadn’t bothered to wipe away, fell silently down his face. 

“Why her?” 

“Lots of reasons. Things that go back long before I took the mark.”

“Like what?” It seemed at this point two things were happening, this witch was just being inappropriately nosy and no one cared to stop her, and Draco was somehow struggling against the Veritaserum, as if this was something he truly didn’t want to reveal.

“From the moment I met Hermione Granger I hated her."

"She was smarter; she was better. She pitted my father against me. To him, how could someone who was not pureblood outdo me in all our classes. He’d had me taught the theory and the history behind things long before I even had a grasp of magic. He primed me for success, and here I was failing him. It didn’t matter what I did, I was always second in our class, just on the tail end of her, and I could never quite catch her. My feelings towards her didn’t even had to do with the fact that she was so close to Potter and Weasley, that just made it worse.”

“I spent  _ so _ many nights awake in my dormitory doing school work or reading outside the required work for class or revising essays over and over again. Hell, sometimes I’d just lie there thinking about how I could make her look stupid or how I could humiliate her. My biggest want was to make her feel as worthless as my father made me feel. To make her feel like she didn’t matter.”

“Once, before they captured her with Potter and Weasley, my aunt, Bellatrix, used Veriatersum on me. The dose clearly wasn’t nearly as high as this one is,” he chuckled softly, seeming ashamed of his rambling. “I wasn’t spilling my guts out like an idiot, but when she asked me something I obviously had no choice but to answer. She asked me who I hated the most out of  _ The Golden Trio _ , she said their nickname in her best mocking tone of awe as she always did when referring to them.”

“I think she expected me to say Harry. Harry was the reason our Dark Lord had fell in the first place. Harry was the reason for all of this, but Harry and I mutually hated one another; it wasn’t something that kept me up at night. And so, I named Hermione. She, like you, asked me why Hermione.”

“ _ Why is it always Hermione fucking Granger? _ ” he paused here, as if his question was more for himself than anything, and he looked down at his hands to consider them. The witch cleared her throat, which brought back Draco's attention.

“Before I could answer, my father reminded her of the point of the Veritaserum, and Bellatrix asked me more about Harry and Dumbledore and prodded me with questions I didn’t know the answer to. Later on, when she, when my aunt, right after I confirmed that they were who they were, she told me she'd make sure Hermione knew what I thought of her and her filthy blood, what we all thought of her, and then, she..she had Hermione on the floor and when…" Draco had begun to cry, his sentences more jumbled, less clear and concise. 

“When she tortured her. When she carved that stupid bloody word into her arm. When I saw what I’d caused. What I’d done…. I realized I had hated myself all along and even more at that moment than ever before. Hermione had done nothing. She was born with magical blood just like me. She was born with curiosity and ambition just like me. But unlike me, she was born brave and loyal and trustworthy. Hermione Granger was, no, Hermione Granger  _ is _ better than me. I should have been okay with being second to her, I don’t even deserve to be on the scale as her anymore. She never deserved my torment and she never deserved what happened to her.” 

The witch nodded, “Thank you, Draco.” 

There was an hourglass bottle on a table in front of where Draco sat -- as time had passed a liquid dripped from the top to the bottom. The last few drops were beginning to suspend in the air above the rest of the liquid. His time with the Veritaserum was running out, and his trial was almost over.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stood. “Draco Lucius Malfoy there are no charges being brought upon you. You will, however, be required to meet with mental healer bimonthly for a year. You will also be required to meet with someone from the auror’s office once a month to ensure that you are not partaking in any form of dark magic. Failure to abide by these regulations, will result in time spent in Azkaban. Please see the wizard on your way out to set up your appointments. You are free. Thank you for your time and honesty.” 

Draco nodded at his agreements, and the memory faded away. Hermione had then dived back in and watched Draco’s testimony over and over. 

Now, amongst the cheer of Christmas, as she watched Draco grab another two cocktails, Hermione absently grabbed her arm where her scar was hidden beneath a charm.  _ Who was Draco Malfoy now? _ She wondered if, despite his confession at his trial, if he still hated her. Surely he would if he knew she’d been nosing about and watched it not once not twice but several times. More than she cared to admit. Hermione did a quick assessment of herself and found that she did not hate Draco. She never truly hated him, even at his cruelest. She was a deeply empathetic individual, and she understood that nothing is black and white -- not even a vile mark burned onto your skin. 

“Here you go, Mrs. Granger-Nott. Only a few more important people to meet, and we will be done. Which means, I’ll still have plenty of time to go home and watch a movie.”

She raised an eyebrow as she took another sip of her drink, making a mental note to make it her last, “Movie? Do you have muggle things in your home, Draco?”

“Why, yes. I do. After establishing the Magical and Muggle Cultural Immersion Committee, or as I like to call it ‘MAMIC’ a few years ago, I’ve found that I quite enjoy muggle cinema and music and novels. Hell, I like lots of muggle things, turns out. You think they’d let me teach Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, if I wanted to?” He raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. 

She used this to propel their conversation forward, “How is ‘MAMIC’ going, anyhow?” 

“Excellent. We just approved a new restaurant in Hogsmeade. It’s actually a bit Americanized, which is kind of funny, but we are trying to improve our relations with MACUSA, and they seem to be interested in our immersion with muggle culture, so we’ll see how it goes.”

“When does it open?”

“I believe all will be good to go on the 27th. It’s small. It’s not much. I mean, we don’t want to step on the toes of other established places or anything. We just want to allow for positive experiences and relationships with muggle culture. We thought about incorporating muggle cuisine and music and lifestyle into already established places, Hannah Abbott, for one, was on board, but, as a whole, the committee wanted to preserve certain places for their historical significance. We aren’t trying to convert anyone into giving up magic and becoming a muggle or anything, and we don’t want to appear that way either. I mean, there are lots of things I’d never want to do the muggle way -- clean for instance, but we just hope, or rather I hope, that the witches and wizards who are still unsure about Muggles and the muggle world will learn to understand that there isn’t anything to fear, that we aren’t that different. 

Hearing Draco speak like this was a Draco she hadn’t seen yet. He was excited and engaged without his overly confident wit and humor. He was speaking to her how she assumed he spoke to other witches and wizards in meetings when he was promoting MAMIC -- all business-charm.

As Draco had spoke, they walked slowly through the rooms. Nodding to certain people. Waving goodbye to others. They’d absently made their way to the foyer, where they’d met earlier that night. Hermione, seeing Evelyn in the next room, wanted to go over and speak with, excuse herself for the night. Looking at the time, she knew she needed to leave soon. She had the tradition of going to Harry’s. She and Harry would sit outside on the stoop of his and Ginny’s home, admiring the snow if it was snowing. They’d sit in silence, but they knew what the other was thinking about -- the Christmas in Godric’s Hollow, sometimes, back then, Hermione thought it would be their last Christmas. Ron would apparate not long after, and sit beside Hermione. The three of them together and thankful for all the Christmases they did get and are getting. 

She turned to Draco, who was standing beside her staring up at something floating above them and began, “Thank you for introducing everyone tonight and thank you for playing along. I do need to speak with Evelyn before I go, I’ve got to get to…” she noticed that Draco wasn’t looking at her, he was still gawking at whatever was above them. 

“What are you gawking at?” she asked.

“Something you’re not going to be too happy and, as far as everyone else here is concerned, neither will Theo,” he joked.

Finally she looked up and asked,“Is that…?” but before she continued her question, she attempted to move her feet, and found that she was stuck in her spot. Her legs heavy like sandbags. 

“Evelyn! Evvie!” Draco yelled.

Evelyn came walking into the foyer, “What is it, Draco? By Salazaar, you gave me a fright!”

Draco pointed up, “When did this get here? It wasn’t here when I got here. Half the bloody room would have had to have snogged by now if that were the case.” 

She put her hand to her mouth and stifled a laugh, “Oh goodness. I don’t know who charmed that up there, but we won’t be able to move it until, well, you know…” she trailed off and waved her hand in the direction of Hermione and Draco. 

Hermione gawked at her. “You mean, someone thought it would be funny to put mistletoe right where people would be standing when they left? That’s just childish!That’s utterly ridiculous! I have to go. There must be some charm to get it down without me having to...kiss... _ him! _ ” Hermione’s gawk turned into a pout, and Draco internally smacked himself for noting how cute she looked when pouting.

“I’ll have you know I’m a great kisser,” defended Draco.

“Oh, dear. Don’t take offense. I’m sure Hermione is more worried about what Theo might think. Hermione, it’s Christmas Eve. It’s binding magic. You’ll be stuck here forever if you don’t kiss him. One peck won’t kill you or Draco or Theo for that matter. Just get on with it.” 

More people began to gather in the foyer to see what the commotion was about. Some laughed, some whistled, and some commented that they wished they’d gotten stuck underneath it. 

“Get on with it you two!” someone exclaimed

As they were already facing one another, Draco placed his hand gently beneath Hermione’s jaw and nudged her to look up at him. When she did, he could see even better the hints of gold in her brown eyes, and he felt his breath hit in his throat. She, too, admired him: his hard jaw line, his full pink lips, his eyes, which used to seem cold and distant in their youth, but now felt pleading and needy. 

To an on looker, one would assume the hesitation in the kiss was of two people who did not like each other and one who was engaged to the other’s friend. To Draco and Hermione, however, the hesitation was suddenly due to the fact that they both were realizing just how badly they wanted to kiss the person standing opposite them. 

Finally, in a swift fluid motion, Draco bent down, his hand moving to cup Hermione’s cheek, and pressed his lips softly against hers. Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt her body responding to him, even in the few seconds when his lips were brushed against hers. She felt the charm lift; her legs no longer felt heavy. She quickly straightened up, pulled away, grabbed her cloak, and left the Nott home. 

Leaving Draco with his hand on his mouth before cracking a joke to those near him. 


	5. Chapter 5

**\-- Christmas Day --**

Draco awoke before dawn, as he usually did. He lay stretched out in his bed, ruminating the previous night’s events, just as he had before he had fallen asleep. He’d began the evening of the Christmas Eve party with every intention of just toying with Hermione for a short while before retiring to the Nott library to read and eat sweets in peace. Her reciprocating, playing along with him, was not something he’d expected. Moreover, he hadn’t expected them to have such a good time together. 

He found that their evening was one of the more enjoyable of his evenings in what felt like years. What Draco spent most of his time considering before he fell asleep and again as he woke up, was their brief kiss. Initially, she had looked completely enraged at the idea of kissing him, but, moments before he leaned into kiss her, the look on her face changed ever-so slightly from that of anger to one of anticipation and perhaps the slightest bit of want. 

Draco found her lips to be as warm and as inviting as he had expected, nothing about Hermione Granger was cool and uninviting, and he was not shocked to find himself wishing that they hadn’t had an audience and wishing that there had been a chance for  _ her _ to show  _ him _ that she did, in fact, want them to be spend time underneath the mistletoe, magical or not. 

Whomever put it there, he was eternally grateful for; if nothing else, he had that small moment, those few seconds, where her eyes widened and her mouth parted just enough so that when he pressed his lips to hers his bottom lip slipped between hers.  _ Yes, _ Draco decided,  _ she did want to kiss me. _

He chuckled to himself and rested his arms behind his head. Despite being Christmas, there wasn’t much on Draco’s schedule. He would visit his mother that evening, but until then he supposed he would go visit Theo. His stomach dropped a little at the thought of Theo, not only the situation pertaining to Hermione which was, to Draco, completely absurd, but also because he felt completely responsible for Theo’s current situation.

Not long after Draco’s conversation with Harry the previous August and learning about Hermione’s parents’ memory issue, Draco presented Theo with a challenge. 

Theo and Draco were close. At this point in their lives, they were more like brothers than friends. They’d both spent an extraordinary amount of time reestablishing themselves, and they were both proud of how far they’d come and how, even with the occasional hiccup, they managed to mostly separate themselves from their past and the past of their fathers.

Theo, who worked in Experimental Charms and Potions, was absurdly good at his job. Theo would have given Draco a run for his money in school, but Theo, in his youth, was disastrously lazy and unmotivated and got by with average grades without much effort; he was completely content with this. It wasn’t until after the war, and much more was at stake for his future, that he began to take his post-Hogwarts schooling seriously. Theo was known for his potioneering, and when Draco heard of Hermione’s parent’s predicament, Draco knew that Theo would be the man for the job. Not only was Theo an excellent potioneer, he also loved a challenged – nothing excited him more.

Draco approached Theo but remained discreet as to why the potion was needed and who it was for. Theo trusted Draco immensely, and he didn’t question him. It wasn't lost on Theo what opportunities, both personal and professional, would arise if he succeeded.

Theo immediately accepted and spent several months working on it. Draco didn’t know if it was his procured potion that exploded and caused Theo to fall into his coma, but he was certain that it was.

What Draco didn’t know, though, that Theo had successfully completed the task given to him. He had sent vials of the potion off to be tested, and he’d just heard word that they had been successful. In case they hadn’t, Theo had created a new slightly different potion -- this potion, with the new ingredients, the one that was not going to work, is what caused the explosion and thus caused the coma. 

Theo was in the process of disposing of this new potion when the ingredients became volatile and exploded. Sitting on Theo’s desk in a small room off from his laboratory was the letter that explained how positively and quickly the potion he’d created worked. In the top drawer of Theo’s desk were two vials of the potion, a deep purple with a slight shimmer, resting upon a cloth with a note lying atop them labelled, “For Draco.”

What Draco didn’t know, what Hermione didn’t know, what Theo didn’t know, and what the healers working with Theo didn’t know, was that it was only a matter of time before the residual effects of the volatile potion would wane, and Theo would in a matter of days and no more than few weeks wake up.

Draco got up from his bed and dressed. At the same time, Hermione Granger was just waking up, rising from her bed with a slight tinge of headache from the previous night. Her belly ached from worry – not currently about Theo, but about Draco, and their brief kiss and how much she’d liked it.

She had many things to do today, and she knew she had to make her appearance at the hospital. She figured it would work out best to do this first, and so she slipped out of the warmth of her bed and began to get ready for whatever or whomever the day brought.

Draco arrived at the St. Mungos around 8am. He brought himself several books, a notebook, and quill, and tea. He didn't have anywhere else to be, and he owed it to Theo to be there. 

He transfigured an uncomfortable chair into a plush large armchair with an ottoman. He propped his feet is, leaned back, and ended up falling asleep for a few hours that morning. 

He awoke around 10, a little confused, but feeling refreshed after his lack of sleep the previous night. Realizing how early it still was, and unsure of how else to pass the time, he grabbed a thin book in the middle of his stack. As he was helping to develop the new, very Americanization muggle meets magic establishments in Hogsmeade, he'd been making a concerted effort to read more American muggle literature. The thin book he grabbed was a collection titled  _ Meditations in an Emergency  _ by Frank O’Hara. 

He flipped through the pages and landed on a poem divided into four parts. 

"Alright, Theo," he said aloud, "Let's hear what this American bloke's got to say, shall we?"

He cleared his throat and began to read _ :  _

_ My heart’s aflutter! / I am standing in the bathtub / crying. Mother, mother / who am I? _

Down the hallway, Hermione Granger walked towards her supposed betrothed's room. As she approached, she heard a man's voice and wondered for a second if it was Theo, if he had woken up, her heart rate quickened at the prospect, and when she realized that the voice belonged to Draco Malfoy instead, her heart rate picked up even more.

As she stood beside the door she heard him say:

_ That’s funny! there’s blood on my chest / oh yes, I’ve been carrying bricks / what a funny place to rupture! _

Hermione realized he was reading poetry. She felt embarrassed and ashamed for standing there listening and walked several steps in the other direction before immediately changing her mind and turning back. His voice was smooth and calm. He read aloud effortlessly and with such care for each word. She had to hear more. 

She leaned against the wall, cast a silencing spell, so he wouldn't detect her, and she allowed herself to listen to him finish the poem:

_ Now I am quietly waiting for / the catastrophe of my personality / to seem beautiful again, / and interesting, and modern. _

_ The country is grey and / brown and white in trees, / snows and skies of laughter / always diminishing, less funny / not just darker, not just grey. _

_ It may be the coldest day of / the year, what does he think of / that? I mean, what do I? And if I do, / perhaps I am myself again. _

As he read, she bowed her head and held her hands, folded together, against her chest. She felt herself smile without thought, felt her eyes tingle with the familiar feel of tears as he read. He truly did have a beautiful voice for poetry, she thought. She let her mind wander to him reading some of her favorite poems to her, and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. 

He paused for several seconds after finishing the poem. She heard him shut the book and set it on the table. She heard him re-adjust the way he was sitting, and then quietly to himself, not to Theo, not for anyone else to hear, he whispered, "perhaps I am finally myself now."

Hermione felt a surge of affection for him, and if he had been Harry or Ron or Neville or damn near anyone else, she would have swooped in and embraced him. But, this was Draco, and she respected whatever private boundaries he might have. She strode away from the room and went and sat in the cafe downstairs, waiting long enough to allow distance between his reading and her arrival. 

An hour or so later, Hermione was still sitting in the cafe. She was drinking her third cup of tea and was now having a cheese scone. She was mid-bite, and the scone was crumbly but delicious. Crumbs fell from it, she raised her hand beneath her chin to try and catch them as they fell. With her hand, resting beneath her chin, crumbs in her palm, she felt a familiar hand smacked lightly on her back, “Granger-Nott!” 

He knocked her forward a little with his jovial-smack and crumbs fell out of her hand and onto the tabletop. She tried to quickly chew and wipe any crumbs from her lips and face. She felt slightly embarrassed for Draco to see her messily eating, and she was bothered that she cared at all. Hermione was not a dainty eater by any means. It wasn’t that she ate with gusto and grand enjoyment, she was always rushed and always busy and tended to have to cram sustenance into her mouth as quickly as she could. While she had time this morning to enjoy her food and enjoy the book she was reading, she was just in the habit of eating with haste. 

Draco gestured to the empty chair in front of her, “May I join you?”

She nodded, still rapidly chewing the food in her mouth. Taking a sip of tea and washing down the last bit of scone in her mouth, she shut her book and shoved it into her bag.

“I was just about to go visit Theo.”

Draco rested his arms on the table, folding his hands together. The table was small, and Draco was not only a big personality to have in such a small space, but he was quite long. His arms and legs seemed awkwardly placed in the corner table she’d secured for herself that morning. Hermione felt overwhelmed by his presence. It was only twelve short hours ago that they were standing under the mistletoe -- magically tricked into kissing, a thought that made her ears tinge with heat. 

“I just came from there myself.”

“Oh? How is he?”

“Same as before.”

“Well, that’s…”

“Not sure whether that’s good or bad?”

“Well, of course it’s bad, but...I just haven’t quite figured out my situation yet.”

“What situation?” feigning ignorance with this comment, and Draco smirked at her, gauging her reaction; her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, her curls, losing some of the charm she’d used on them from the night before, were beginning to revert to their naturally wild state, some ringlets looking as if they had been struck by electricity, and her face looked bright and youthful. She dressed simply and even in a jumper she looked just as stunning as she did the previous night. Draco paused when he spotted her earrings, they were studded emeralds in the shape of an oval. He remembered her skirt, the jesting over her wearing Slytherin green. He began to wonder if she’d chosen them intentionally -- for him. Of course, she hadn’t known she would see him today, but perhaps she wore them just in case. 

“Oh, bugger off, Draco,” her tone was light, not so much as angry at him as annoyed. He thought of this as a good tone for her to have. 

Hermione magicked her mess up and pushed herself away from the table. She adjusted her sweater, “Happy Christmas, Draco." Looking up at her, he saw her smiling her warm wide smile, briefly lighting him up inside, before she turned and left, leaving Draco to ponder her and her choice in earrings. 


	6. Chapter 6

**\-- December 31st 2003/January 1st 2004--**

The days after Christmas came and went: Hermione had some work to do on several cases. Draco had his own cases, as well as ensuring that everything was running smoothly with MAMIC. There was always a lot to cram in in between Christmas and New Years. 

Hermione and Draco passed one another in the halls of St. Mungos. Not much was exchanged between the two: a nod, a cornered soft-smile, and pleasantries. Hermione had secretly hoped she’d come upon him reading aloud again, but she hadn’t. Draco secretly hoped she’d be in the room each time he entered -- as she was on the first night he found her there, but he hadn't. 

Time simply hadn't aligned itself for them, until it did. 

Hermione was running late for Hannah and Neville’s yearly New Year’s Eve party. Every year since they’d been a couple, they’d thrown a party. The first few years it was small -- all familiar faces and lounging on couches until midnight, then, once everyone settled into their new lives and felt comfortable and safe and reconnected, they began to grow; it was quite the event now. Hermione enjoyed them because there were always so many people that one could almost fade into the background. The party was, as usual, at The Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had run into a shop to pick up a bottle of honey mead for Hannah and Neville to enjoy as a thank you for hosting. 

Hermione chose a bottle for them, paid, and began to walk out the door. She looked down, slipping on her gloves as she walked out, and in the few seconds she looked down, she walked straight into Draco Malfoy. He’d been stopped, looking at a selection of mead. She hadn’t noticed him walk in, and she hadn’t seen him standing there. She was in such a rush to get to the party, that she found she hadn’t been paying any attention. As she was walking quickly, bumping into him forced him back a little, and she staggered forward as his body moved backwards. He reached out and grabbed onto her to steady her, as he steadied himself. 

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there. I’m running late, and I just wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“It’s quite alright, Granger-Nott. Where are you off to in such a rush?”

“Hannah and Neville’s New Years Eve party.”

“Ah, right. That would be tonight. Hannah owled me an invite.”

Hermione noticed herself perk up a bit at this, “So, you’re coming, too?”

“No.”

“But, why not?”

“Time allows for a lot, but even with Hannah’s invitation, I’m certain I’m really not welcome. She’s just too kind to not invite me. Hufflepuffs,” and with this he shrugged, looking a little defeated.

“Draco, that’s ridiculous. It doesn’t matter anymore. Free yourself from all that. We all have worked so hard to free ourselves from the war. We’re all in this together now. Honestly. I mean, you and Harry work together! You and Hannah work together for MAMIC! Bloody hell, you and I have kissed!” She laughed at her declaration, part as a way to indicate the lightness of the situation to him, but also as a way to alleviate her nerves; this was the first time either of them had mentioned their brief kiss, and neither of them was sure it would ever be mentioned again.

Draco laughed as she did and nodded, “Yes. All true statements.”

She ceased her laughter and rested her hand upon his forearm; she squeezed him gently, and through the wool of his cloak and the soft cotton of his jumper, he felt something from her squeeze -- something desperate and pleading. He looked at her hand upon his arm and then met her eyes, “Please come.” 

He looked down at his shoes, avoiding her eyes now -- avoiding the gold flecks that demanded things of him, things he wasn’t quite sure he understood yet. Then in a soft whisper he heard, “With me. Please, come with me.” 

He finally met her gaze, he saw she was grinning, shifting the tone between them, “It’ll be fun. Ron gets hilariously drunk every time and only refers to Harry as The Chosen One. Harry spends his night very bashful and tries to stay out of the limelight, so you won’t have to worry about him. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but he’s calmed down quite a lot since the babies have been born. Someone always starts doing some horrific karaoke, last year it was Ernie MacMillian…” She tugged on his arm and gestured for them to go. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his cloak, he followed, letting her talk as they walked through town to get to The Leaky Cauldron.

Draco listened to her, adding comments here and there that made her laugh, which made him laugh. He found her laughter infectious, and it made him feel better than anything else to see her lips cracked into a smile and her head tilted back as she laughed. 

No one even noticed them when they first entered, everyone was well on their way into their evening. The clock in the middle of the room showed that there were three hours to midnight. Draco wasn’t sure how long he was expected to stay here, but he had a feeling that if he hung around with Hermione, he’d want to stay the entire time. There were far too many people here, though, Draco thought, for Hermione to want to pal around with him all night, and he began to get the sinking feeling he always does when in large groups, especially those that are made up of many of his former classmates; he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing here: former Death Eater, son of Lucius Malfoy. He searched the room in desperation and found he had already lost Hermione. 

He found a cornered wall and stood against it, sulking, and trying to decide how long he would wait to find her again before he saw himself out.

It wasn’t long before she came bounding back into sight, her mood towards him much different than it had been at the Nott Christmas party. She was happy to be around a room full of people who were unaware of her faux-engagement, and she felt light and thrilled to be free of it for a few hours. She handed Draco a drink, and he noted that she did not have a drink of her own.

On their walk to The Leaky Cauldron, Hermione decided she would remain as mentally aware as possible. She would ceremoniously drink a flute of champagne at midnight, but until then she would not. She had been spending far too much time since Christmas Eve trying to determine if she’d really enjoyed her time with Draco, if she’d really wanted him to kiss her, or if it was the residual effects of Evelyn Nott’s strong Christmas cocktails. 

Draco took the drink from her, took one small sip, and immediately decided that he was not going to impede his senses; as he sulked momentarily against the wall, he felt that his sadness was not due to his past, not entirely anyway. He was sad because he had thought Hermione had abandoned him -- drug him along the party and then left him to enjoy it without her. When she came into sight again, his heart flip-flopped, and he knew he had to figure out what exactly it was that he felt towards Hermione Granger. It was no longer a need to atone himself over their past anonymously, it was suddenly something much  _ much _ more. 

“Come along. Let’s go see what games they have going over there.”

She gestured towards an area that had less people than the other areas. There was some cheering and laughing and an occasional outburst of expletives. Draco set his drink down on the nearest table, grabbed a fresh one, and handed it to Hermione. “Oh, thank you!” but she left the drink unattended somewhere along the way. 

The next few hours passed much quicker than Draco expected. He thought he would be miserable sitting around and chatting with Potter or Weasley or whomever else showed up, but he wasn’t miserable at all. He and Hermione played a few card games, paired up together against Seamus and Pavarti. They laughed and poked fun at Harry along with Ron. Ron even encouraged Draco to take a jab at Harry, and when he did they all laughed; they weren’t offended or bothered by his presence. They seemed to not notice at all that he was Draco Malfoy: Slytherin, Death Eater, Ferrett. He was just a man sitting around with other people enjoying themselves. 

As the time grew closer to midnight, Hannah sent around flutes of champagne that refilled once they were emptied. Ten minutes to midnight, Neville gave a speech and thanked everyone for coming. Everyone was crowded into the main area of the bar where the clock, counting down to midnight, was. 

Hermione and Draco were near the back, close together, but not touching -- it hadn’t really struck either of them was  _ supposed  _ to occur when the clock struck midnight. Neville raised his glass when there was a minute left, toasting everyone, and drowning his own glass of champagne. Hermione, Draco, and everyone else raised their glasses and sipped their own flute before beginning to count down the time together. You could hear Ron over everyone else. You could hear glasses clinking against tables. You could hear laughter. And as everyone yelled, “Happy New Year” turning to their respective lover or friend and wrapping them in an embrace, Draco locked eyes with Hermione, realization dawning on them both, and he looped his arm around her waist and coaxed her towards him. 

With his free hand, he cupped her cheek, just as he had done under the mistletoe, and in a whisper only she could hear, he said, “For tradition…” and caught her lips between his. He hadn’t known if this was a good idea, and when she pulled away, he thought he had his answer. She nodded and whispered back, “For tradition,” and she rested her hand on the back of his neck pulling him towards her again. Their lips met once more, and not because they were magically bound on the spot, but because they wanted to, because to Hermione and Draco both, it felt like they  _ needed _ to. Everyone else was entangled in someone else, and no one seemed to notice when their kiss lasted longer than the obligatory peck. She pressed her body against his, and she felt her knees give slightly and her head swim. Her body pulsed. She felt as if she was on fire. Parting her lips, he slid his tongue against hers and he tasted of cinnamon -- burning sweetly against her. 

The sound of fireworks outside drew them out of their kiss. Draco parted from her first--their faces still close, their bodies closer. They were tugged apart when Ron came by flung an arm around Hermione and pecked her on the mouth. “Happy New Year, Hermione! Life is grand. Everything is grand!” Draco felt a surge of jealousy for a split second before Ron neared him and flung his arm around him, just as he had done with Hermione. Ron planted a kiss on Draco’s cheek and exclaimed, “Happy New Year, Malfoy! Happy! New! Year!” Ron backed away as he said it, a huge grin on his face before he turned to wrap his arm around the next person. Draco turned and raised his eyebrows at Hermione, and Hermione broke into a fit of laughter. As people began to filter out, Hermione confined in Draco that she was exhausted and needed to head home. He insisted that they were going to be headed in the same direction and after saying goodbye to everyone that mattered, they left the party. 

They didn’t say much as they walked. The night had grown colder and windier. Finally breaking the silence, Hermione asked, “Where do you live, Draco?” 

He turned and point, “Oh, uh, on the other side of town.”

Hermione paused, “Why are you walking this way then?”

Draco paused as well, “Why are we walking at all, when we could just apparate?”

“I like walking. Plus, I hate apparating. It makes me feel sick. Now answer me, why are you walking this way if you prefer to apparate  _ and _ you live on the other side of town?”

“I wanted to see that you got home alright, Hermione. I have manners, you know.”

She chuckled softly, “Well, you don’t have to walk me home. I’m perfectly capable.”

“I have no doubt in your capability, but at this point you’re blocking the wind,” he walked a bit closer to her and nudged her arm with his.

Continuing to walk, she nudged him back, much harder than he had her, and knocked him off balance a little. He regained his balance and began walking again, much closer to her than before. 

When Draco reached out to find her hand, he expected it to be tucked into her pocket, and the gesture to be lost, but it wasn’t, it was resting at her side; he took her hand in his and laced their fingers together. They resumed their comfortable silence until Hermione stopped walking, let go of his hand, and gestured at the building, “Well, this is me. Thank you for walking me home.” 

“You’re welcome.” He stepped closer to her, as if to kiss her, “Have a good night, Hermione. Happy New Year,” and he leaned down to press his lips to her forehead before stepping back and apparating to his own home. 

Hermione stood in place for a few minutes, staring at the place where Draco had just been standing. Snow had begun to fall, and she touched her fingers to her lips, knowing she would not be getting much sleep and all she had to consider. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is why I've rated this 'M' -- just in case you'd like to avoid it.

**\-- January 1st, 2004 --**

Hermione woke to a tapping at her window. The tapping had made its way into her dreams, and it took her several minutes for her to distinguish between what was real and what was in her dream. When she determined it was actually an owl at her window, she tumbled out of bed -- exhausted from lack of sleep and determined to get back into bed. The letter the owl had brought, however, immediately woke her up. 

_ Ms. Granger, _

_ Mr. Theodore Nott has awoken from his coma. We have notified you first; we will next notify Mrs. Nott and Mr. Nott’s emergency contact on file, Draco Malfoy.  _

_ Please come to St. Mungos at your earliest convenience.  _

_ Best, _

_ Healer Gordon _

“No. No. No. No.” Hermione groaned into her hands.

Half an hour later, Hermione was walking the halls of St. Mungos. To her dismay, she was the last to arrive. Mrs. Nott was hovering over Theo, brushing back his hair, giving him pumpkin juice, feeling his head for a fever. Draco was sitting in a chair and chatting with Theo’s grandfather. 

When Hermione stepped in, Evelyn lit up, “OH! Here she is! Hermione, dear, Theo doesn’t remember a thing.”

“Pardon me?” Hermione inquired.

“He has no idea that you are engaged or that you were even dating. He knows who you are but that seems to be it. The healers say that this is normal, that amnesia is common, but I’m just so sorry, Hermione. They aren’t certain his memory will ever be the same.”

Hermione felt a mix of sadness and relief. She wasn’t sure how, but she felt that this was the best way to get out of her messy situation. 

Before she could respond, Theo’s grandfather piped up, “Just kiss him! I bet that’ll bring his memory back. A good snogging will do the trick. Won’t it, Richard?” He gestured to Healer Gordon.

“Well, sir, there’s no concrete evidence to back it, but often sensory objects will help to trigger memories, so, yes, perhaps, Ms. Granger, a kiss could help.”

“Get on with it then, girl. Time's a wastin’,” and he slapped his legs in insistence. 

Hermione looked at Draco, awestruck. Draco didn’t look shocked, but he didn’t look particularly happy. 

Hermione looked at Theo. Theo looked, well, intrigued by everything that was occuring. He glanced back at Hermione, smiled a little, and shrugged, as if to show that he was fine with sharing a kiss.

She took a deep breath and walked over to where Theo sat on his bed. She leaned down and lightly kissed him on his lips. He had soft full lips, and he was an undeniably handsome man; Hermione had foolishly fantasized about him for months, but kissing him didn’t feel anything like kissing Draco. Theo moved his hands, resting one on Hermione’s arm, and the other gently on her neck. He enthusiastically kissed her back. Maybe trying to trigger his memory back or maybe he was just enjoying kissing her. 

Hermione pulled away suddenly when she heard the scrape of a chair, and turned to see Draco walking out of the room. Excusing herself, Hermione found Draco down the hallway, in the lobby area. 

She sat next to him. Silence permeating between them. He wanted to say something snarky, something about her kissing Theo, but before he could come up with something, she spoke, “I have to tell them the truth. I don’t want to play this game anymore.” 

He looked over at her, but he didn’t reply. She continued,“I think I need your help. I don’t...I don’t know how to do it. I feel so stupid and so ashamed.” 

Burying her face in her hands, Draco watched her as she began to cry. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He had spent his entire time at Hogwarts desperately wanting to bring Hermione down; he had wanted nothing more for years than to prove how stupid she was. Now, sitting here in the lobby of St. Mungos, listening to her hiccup between sobs, he wanted nothing more than to make her feel okay. He rested a hand gently on her back, “I’ll speak with Theo tonight. I’ll ensure he understands everything. I’ll be with you tomorrow when you tell the rest of his family. We’ll sort this, ok? Go home. I’ll tell them you had a work emergency. I’ll owl you once Theo and I have spoken. Alright?” She looked up, wiping away her tears, and whispered, “Thank you.” 

Leaving her in the small lobby, Draco got up and walked out to help her fix her mess.

\--

At eight that evening, Hermione heard a familiar tapping against the glass door to her porch. She crossed her flat and spotted a large owl she didn't recognize. She slid out the parchment to find a note from Draco, "Meet me at the new pub in Hogsmeade in half an hour."

Hermione, cast a quick spell that twirled her hair into a bun, slipped on her heels, grabbed her peacoat, and left her flat.

An hour later, they both had had several drinks: honey mead for Hermione and an Old Fashioned for Draco -- a Muggle drink he had the barman make for him. The pub Draco had worked to open was owned by a couple in their forties from America. Their drink menu offered a variety of muggle cocktails and their record player was magicked to hold a host of both wizard and muggle music -- most of which, wws an array of classic American and British hits. Hermione recognized most of them from her parents’ record collection.

Draco leaned back against his side of the booth; he's stretched his lovely long legs out underneath the table. She noticed this as she readjusted her own legs -- her right foot brushing against his leg. She, unlike him, leaned forward; her elbows and forearms resting against the cool wood beneath her skin, and her hands wrapped around a pint glass, almost empty. Draco's glass, a lowball, was in his hand, resting close to his chest, swishing the Old Fashioned one way and then swishing it the other. 

His head leaned back against the booth and he looked out into the rest of the bar. It was late but he wasn’t sure of how late. The only indication of the time was how the crowd has thinned, and that he and Hermione, many drinks later, were now almost alone. 

The music playing was quiet enough to hear the person you were sharing a table with, but loud enough to enjoy it. Moving away from their cozy nook of a booth, it got louder, more late-night bar appropriate: The time of night when the only thing most people want or need on their mind is the music playing. 

The bar is dark in a romantic way, Hermione mused earlier -- all soft lighting and darkened wood. 

Hermione was thinking of the way her night unfolded when "These Arms of Mine" by Otis Redding began to play, Draco didn’t think twice about what he was doing: He stood up and stepped over to her side of the booth. Looking up at him, she saw that he was holding out his hand to her, and, as if timed perfectly, he began to sing, along with Otis, to Hermione,

_ “...lonely and feeling blue. These arms of mine, they are yearning.” _

Hermione's mouth fell agape completely unsure of the man standing before her holding out his hand -- holding it out for her and signing to her. Hesitantly but with want, she placed her hand in his and slid herself out of the booth. 

As she stepped out onto the floor of the bar, she realized she was only in her stockings. Hermione had always had the horrible habit of slipping off her shoes the moment she sat down anywhere, and this wasn’t any different in pubs. Her heels laid long forgotten beneath their table. 

Bringing their height difference to it's most honest, once he's led her to the middle of the bar, where others had danced earlier that night, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into him. Her arms rested around his shoulder, and her fingers pressed tenderly against his nape of his neck. Their hands joined as he began to gently push and sway her body with his. 

Their faces were close, and the scent of cinnamon from his breath mixed with that of bourbon helped her to forget that tomorrow she has to tell the family she’s come to love that she has been lying to them. She allowed herself to forget this for now and to simply enjoy this moment with Draco.

As the song ends, she pulled back from him, “I’d like to go home. Apparate me home, please.” He wasn’t sure if she was worried about tomorrow, if she was uncomfortable with how intimate the moment was, or if it was something else entirely, but he apparated her home, leaving her shoes beneath the table. 

He apparated them both with every intention of leaving her safely at home and heading back to the bar -- to pay their tab, to compliment the owners, to grab her shoes for her, but when they arrived at her doorstep, she opened the door before turning to him to kiss him. Her kiss was needy and hungry -- different from the kiss at the New Years Eve party, which was tender and cautious, and quite different from the kiss at Christmas Eve, which was hesitant with uncertainty. 

Moving to inside her flat, pulling him with her as they kissed, her hands tugging on the collar of his shirt, beckoning him inside with her, they kissed and walked until they were in her small living room, and his legs were against her couch. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him gently, indicating for him to sit. Their kiss broke momentarily as he sat and she straddled his lap, the position hiking up the hem of her dress. He instinctively rested a hand on the top of her thigh and reached up with his other hand to entangle his fingers in her hair, pushing himself up to kiss her again-- his kiss matched the neediness and hunger she showed moments before. Hermione moaned into his mouth and he can feel a rush of blood to his groin, and he knows she can feel him pressed against her, as she ground herself down onto his erection. 

After some time, their lips swollen, he moved his body so that she slide off of him and onto the couch. He ran his hands up her dress and began to pull down her stockings. She breathlessly said, “Just use your wand. It’s quicker.” Draco shakes his head, “Somethings magic cannot improve upon, remember? Undressing you is one of those things.” He rolled the stockings down her thighs and past her knees and, one leg at a time, pulled them over her calves and past her toes. He dropped the stockings to the floor and ran his hands up her bare legs. He kissed the tops of her thighs, pushing her legs open with his hands, he ran one hand up to her warm sex, trailed his thumb against her slit before circling her clit. She took in a sharp breath at his touch and let out a low moan when he bent down between her thighs and slowly ran his tongue, teasingly, along her center. Listening to her whimpering against him as he slipped his fingers into her, curling them within her as he sucked on her clit. 

Her hands rested lightly against him, one on his shoulder, and the other with its fingers in his hair pulling gently. He slowed down after her pleasure peaked, but he didn’t stop. He slowly lapped his tongue against her before kissing the inside of her thighs and coming up to tenderly kiss her. The air felt cold against her now that he’d moved, and she missed feeling him already. 

She moved her hands down his body and rubbed his cock through his trousers. “Can we magic away our clothes now, I don’t want you to not be near me, not for even a minute?” He nodded smiling and grabbed for his wand that had fallen onto the floor. Within seconds, he was naked, and asked, “What do you want gone of your clothes?” 

With a soft laugh she said, “All of it. Now. Get it all off.” He chuckled and nodded and, again, within seconds, Hermione Granger was naked beneath him. She ran her hands back down his body again, taking his cock in her hand; she began to stroke him, slowly at first, enjoying the warmth of his skin, the hardness of his erection, and the look on his face as she pulled and tugged on him. She quickened her pace as he reached his hand between her legs, slipping his fingers once more into her. He curled them within her, just as she had liked so much earlier, and pumped his fingers, focusing his thoughts on making her cum, and trying to contain his own pleasure. She bucked her hips up against his palm grinding it against her clit, and could feel her thighs tremble against him, feel her hand let go of his cock to grasp onto his thigh, and feel her breath catch as their mouths are together -- pulsing with orgasm. “Draco…” 

“Hmm?” he asked, his mouth upon her neck and chest.

“Say the contraceptive spell. Now.”

He pulled up to look at her, “The contraceptive spell?” Not inquiring what it is, but ensuring to himself that she wants him.

“Gods. Yes. Don’t make me get up and get my own wand.” 

Smirking, he grabbed his wand off of the floor and whispered the incantation. As he does so, she reached down to grab his cock again, propping one of her legs onto the back of the couch, and pushing her hips up to meet him. He leaned back down over her and kissed her sweet and swollen mouth, as he guided his cock into her. He moaned as he entered her, her body enveloping him. It takes a few moments for him to compose himself, he felt so overwhelmed by her and consumed by her that he could hardly make himself move for fear of spilling himself too quickly. 

She kissed him tenderly and slowly pushed her hips into him. Draco steadied himself and moved himself inside her slowly at first and then with urgency, their hips coming together in a fervor, unlike anything he’d experienced before. She kissed his cheeks and neck as he comes, and he moved just enough so that he can rest atop her. His head against her chest, damp with sweat. She ran her fingers through his hair as their bodies cool, and she suggested they move to her bed for the remainder of the evening. 

Draco awoke the next morning and knew exactly where he was, Hermione was awake next to him with her knees bent and a book propped against them. She had a cup of tea in her hand, and he was a bit perplexed as to how he hadn't woken up when she did. 

"What time is it?" He wasn't used to waking up after dawn.

"Approaching nine," she didn't look at him until she seemed satisfied with her place on her page. 

"Nine? I haven't slept that let since I was a boy." 

"I suppose you did have a busy night," and she smirked slightly

He chuckled at her words but began to consider how well he  _ had  _ slept, and he couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with her. 

Suddenly, his brain started connecting dots and he remembered why they'd been at the bar and what he'd told her about Theo, what he'd kept from her about Theo, and what she was expected to do today.

The previous night, before he let Otis Redding help him woo Hermione, he had gone to speak with Theo. Theo was an extremely understanding individual, and Draco wasn't at all surprised when he took the news of Hermione's deceit well.

"Huh. Well, I guess, you know, it is what it is. Mother really seems to love her. Grandfather, too. Which really does make this all such a shame."

Draco cocked his head to the side trying to determine what exactly Theo was trying to convey. 

Theo explained further, "It's just, it all seemed off to me from the get-go. I remember everything else there is to remember from the last several months. I remember what I ate the day of the accident; I can recall the exact potion I was working on, I'd just gotten it all sorted out -- it was your potion; it's done by the way -- I could recite the instructions and ingredients now, but I don't remember a single romantic thing about Hermione Granger. I found all that odd, but I figured that if she fell into my lap like this, then maybe, I don't know, Draco, maybe it was fated. Maybe she and I are meant to be. I don't know her tha--"

"You don't know her at all!" Draco spat.

"Well, no. She doesn't know me either and that didn't stop her from lying about being engaged to me."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Theo. You just can't use this opportunity to your advantage. You can't use her like that."

"She used me! And, I'm not  _ usin _ g her, Draco. I would just be looking a gift horse in the mouth if I didn't try to use this as a chance for happiness. Everyone loves her -- mum, grandmother, grandfather, hell, Draco, you seem to like her alright these days."

Draco quickly stood up, "I have to go. Just think about this before you make a rash decision. You don't know Hermione. You won't ever truly know Hermione, Theo. She's not easy. She's a pain the arse who has gotten herself into a stupid situation. My advice is to not blow this thing up. She'll be by tomorrow to speak with your mother."

The memory of Theo's words worried Draco, and he regretted not telling Hermione. It wasn't his plan to reveal a part of himself to her, to let his guard down, but he had, and he hoped she understood that -- even if he hadn't explicitly letting what he felt be known. 

He was worried about going to the Notts with her today, but he had to compose himself, seem collected and unphased by the situation. He wasn’t quite sure how Hermione felt, but he knew that he certainly couldn’t appear to be in love with her in front of his best friend, whom she was supposedly engaged to, and the closest thing he had to a family, whom she had lied to for weeks now. 

As if she knew exactly what he'd been thinking, she leaned up from against the headboard and set her book down, "I've been thinking. I can go and speak with Mrs. Nott today by myself. Actually, no, I  _ need _ to go do this alone. I have to take some responsibility for my actions. It’s important.”

For a second he thought about arguing but didn't, he knew who he was dealing with and assumed she had made up her mind. He nodded. He didn’t know what this meant either -- did she not want him there because she truly want to handle it alone, did she not want him there because perhaps she, like Theo, was considering what advantages the situation had presented them both with, perhaps she truly did not want Draco there, worst of it, perhaps she thought last night to be a mistake. Draco’s stomach and head were starting to hurt. Draco liked things neat and orderly and this was nothing of the sort. He had no idea what she was thinking or feeling, but he also wasn’t about to ask her. Instead of simply asking Hermione, Draco decided to tear out a page from the handbook of his youth; he’d avoid the conversation by leaving. 

He climbed out of bed and, with a flick of his wand, he was dressed again. 

Adjusting the hem of his jumper he said, “Best of luck today, Granger.” 

Hermione, looking puzzled furrowing her brow at his quick departure and use of her surname, not even her nickname surname, replied, “Th-thank you...Malfoy?” It sounded like a question to both him and her, and, with her words, he apparated out of her apartment.

\--

As Hermione got ready for the day, she found she was more concerned with Draco’s quick departure than she was about telling Mrs. Nott about her big lie. It felt, to her, that Draco had considered their evening a mistake; he hadn’t mentioned seeing her again, or being in touch, or anything of the sort. There was no certainty that he wanted to see her again. Hermione’s heart sank at the thought and she felt tears swelling in her eyes before she made her way out the door and over to the Nott home. She walked most of the way, just to clear her head. The morning was bright and crisp. Sun reflected blindingly against the snow. Everything felt too clean, too pure, too promising for everything she had going on.

Evelyn welcomed her into her home as usual. Theo was not there yet, she let her know, but he would be shortly. She offered her tea, which she accepted, and she sat in a chair in the corner of the living room. Theo arrived and greeted her with a grin, as he sat next to his mother on the couch. 

“What is it you wanted to talk to us about, Hermione?” Evelyn asked her with, yet again, another warm, loving, welcoming grin.

“Mrs. Nott--” “Evelyn, dear.”

Hermione sighed, groaning internally, “...Evelyn, I…”

Hermione spilled her guts. A few minutes in, it felt as if Hermione was confessing to her -- telling her all her innermost fears and thoughts; she explained the situation with her parents and their memory, her loneliness, her fascination with Theo from a distance, her feelings towards Theo’s family now that she’d spent time with them, her constant feelings of guilt which didn’t out way how happy she felt being part of a family again, and on and on. In the beginning Evelyn looked furious and by the end she just looked sad. 

She reached out and grabbed Hermione’s hand. She wasn’t sure what to say to the girl, but she felt the need to let her know that it was all going to be ok.

After several minutes of silence, Theo piped up, “I have an idea.”

Both women looked at him and waited for him to continue.

He stood up and came over to Hermione’s chair, he knelt down next to her. “Hermione, I don't know you very well. I know you work hard, and I know you’re absurdly intelligent. I knew you in school as the “insufferable know-it-all”, the genius of The Golden Trio, and so on. I know you limitedly at work. I know you work late, and we often share an elevator in the evenings. I know you work very hard. I know you have moved and will move quickly through the ranks at the ministry -- slated for possible Minister of Magic one day. I know that my mother adores you -- she has talked of nothing but you since I woke up. My grandparents love you. Everyone I’ve had a conversation about concerning you since has done nothing but told me how lucky I am; how bright our future is. So, how’s this Hermione, how about we give it a go? Let’s have dinner. Tomorrow night. Let me take you out. Let me see for myself the Hermione Granger that everyone seems to adore. The Hermione Granger everyone got to know while I was sleeping. And, you know, if you don’t like me, which is completely possible, then we go on about our separate lives.” 

Evelyn looked pleased. Hermione looked awe-struck -- this was not how she thought this morning would go. Her heart was racing. She thought of Draco. She thought of their time spent on her couch and then again later in her bed, her body curved into his, but then remembered how he’d left this morning -- how short he was with her, how he didn’t kiss her goodbye, how he didn’t let her in at all on what he had been thinking or feeling. 

She knew that Draco had felt guilty over things from their past, and perhaps, she thought, he’d conflated his want to atone with affection. Theo, however, seemed eager to get to know her. He’d expressed more in this short moment than Draco had over the past several weeks. 

She nodded, “Okay. Yeah. Let’s go out!”

Evelyn clapped her hands together in joy. Theo took hold of Hermione’s hand and squeezed it. 

“I’ll meet you at your place at 5? We’ll walk around town, grab some dinner, have some drinks, and just enjoy talking to each other. The nurses tell me you did a lot of talking while I was in a coma, and, this time, I’d like to properly listen.” He grinned broadly at her. He  _ was _ quite handsome. 


	8. Chapter 8

**\-- January 2nd, 2004 --**

Theo and Hermione went out that next evening. Hermione, who had to shift her brain from Draco every so often, thoroughly enjoyed herself. He was funny, charmistmatic, interesting, intelligent, and he seemed to think the same of her. They ended their night outside her house. Theo kissed her sweetly on her cheek, and they agreed to dinner that Friday. Hermione felt somewhat hopeful about Theo, and she told herself that whatever had occurred with Draco was simply a fluke.

Theo was quick to inform his friend of the events that had transpired, and Draco was quick to react as he read the note from Theo.

Hermione heard a knock on her door. She was sure it wasn’t Theo, as they had parted ways an hour prior. It was now approaching ten, so she couldn’t fathom who it could be. 

She opened her door to find Draco standing there -- dressed far more casually than normal, as if he’d just left his home without a thought of what he had on. He had on an old beaten up t-shirt and a very old pair of cords, the knees worn in, almost with a hole in one, beneath his coat. 

“Draco?”

“What in the bloody hell are you playing at, Hermione?” his tone was filled with anger, one she hadn’t heard since their days at Hogwarts.

He stood outside her door frame. He couldn’t enter. He couldn’t bare to see her couch where they’d spent their evening; he could just barely stand the smell of mix of chamomile and lavender coming from the door.

“What are you talking about, Draco?”

“You went out with Theo tonight? On a date?”

“That’s none of your business! How do you even know that?”

“He owled me to tell me. He told me the night before last that he thought you were too good of an opportunity to pass up.” His words stung. _Opportunity_ rung in her ears.

“He what? ...wait, you knew about this the other night? Why didn’t you tell me? I was blindsided by it, Draco. I had no idea what to say or do. You left me like I was nothing the other morning, and then…”

“Like you were nothing?”

“Yes! You just got up and left.”

“You didn’t want me with you when you went to speak with Evelyn. At this point, I thought we were in this damn mess together.”

“I wanted to do it on my own. It was _my_ mistake.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“It’s not your business, Draco.” She’d stepped out into the frame of her door, closer to him now. She was filled with rage. He’d left her; he’d left without giving her anything and without a word, and now he was mad at her? 

“It is my business. I need to know if you’re going to be gallivanting around with Theo, and whether or not I need to avoid him and his insufferable girlfriend.” He leaned towards her as he said this, emphasizing the word insufferable.

“You didn’t seem to think I was insufferable the other night,” she spat back at him, leaning towards him to meet him, to show him she was going to back down.

With her so close to him, he couldn’t help himself. He could smell the tea she had been drinking on her breath and the subtle scent of her skin. Her hair was wild about her face and her eyes, the golden flecks seemed to flash at him, egg him on. He closed the space between them and kissed her. Their mouths immediately and greedily meeting; their teeth clashing; their breath heavy. He pushed her against her door frame and continued kissing her -- sucking and biting her bottom lip, pulling it into his own mouth and letting it go. His mouth, for a split second off of hers, seemed to draw her back into a right state of mine. She gently pushed him away from her and stepped back.

“How dare you,”she said. She felt used and betrayed by him, used and betrayed by her own mind and body, as well. 

Draco, too, seemed to come back to his senses, realizing where he was and what was going on. “By God, Hermione, I’m...I’m sorry. I’m an idiot who doesn’t deserve you. I’ve never been good enough, and I’m certainly not good enough for you. Not even now,” He began stepped away from her even further, “I hope Theo makes you happy,” and with that he apparated.


	9. Chapter 9

**\-- April 2004 --**

Hermione hadn’t heard or seen Draco in three months. Theo didn’t say anything about him, but she assumed that they were still in contact. If Theo hadn’t heard from him, she figured he’d have mentioned his concern over him. 

They dated for two months. It was a nice two months: Theo was nice. Theo was caring. Theo was, on paper, everything that Hermione should have wanted in a boyfriend. Theo, though, wasn’t Draco. When she broke up with Theo, they remained friendly, and he and Hermione still spoke occasionally. 

Hermione didn’t know entirely what Draco meant when he had said those few months prior that he wasn’t good enough for her, but Hermione did know how she felt about him. She’d spent the past month trying to get in touch with him, but he hadn’t responded to any of her letters. Hermione had officially just decided that Draco truly didn’t reciprocate her feelings; she was going to have to just get over him, even as much as she didn’t want to, and she was spending her Saturday afternoon curdled up on her couch reading and watching movies, when she heard a knock on the door. 

Annoyed at having to get up, she dragged herself to the door to find Theo standing there. While they were still on good terms, she did find it a bit uncomfortable to see him standing there. 

In his hands he held a box with an envelope on top -- sealed and unmarked. 

“Hi, Hermione.”

“Hey, Theo. Everything alright?”

“Oh, yes. Everything is quite alright. I had something to bring to you.”

“Oh?”

“Several months ago, before my accident, Draco had approached me and sort of commissioned a potion.”

“Okay…”

“I didn’t know what it was for or who for at the time. I was more excited at the challenge than anything else. Anyway, I had completed the potion before my accident. I had run all the right tests and so on, and it was good to go. After my accident, I had to be sure that it was fine. I was working on a variation of the potion when the explosion occurred, and I couldn’t run the risk of something like that happening again, so I’ve been perfecting and testing out my original potion, which, as it seems is good to go. It’s really quite a potion, Hermione. You’re going to absolutely love the process of it all. I’ll have to explain it to you one day. Anyway, so, about a week ago, I sent word to Draco that it was done, and, well, turns out, the potion is for you. I think you need to go speak with him about it. Here are the vials. The envelope contains the place he’s staying. I know he can have a hard exterior shell, but he’s been through a lot. Just go see him, Hermione.”

Theo handed her the box. Looking down at it, she ran her thumb against the envelope, and when she looked up Theo had gone.

\--

Hermione spent several hours staring at the box and staring at the slip of paper that showed Draco’s current address. 

She got her things together to go see him on three separate occasions, each time convincing herself not to leave in the end. Finally, she decided that she would go tomorrow or perhaps the next day, so she undressed and drew herself a bath. While in the tub, she laid there thinking about everything, pondering the potions and asking herself the same questions over and over. _What could the potion possible be? What would he have wanted me for me before we’d met again in the hospital?_

In the middle of her bath, the water still piping hot, she rose from the tub with purpose, dried off, dressed quickly, grabbed the box and the address, threw on her cloak and stepped out her door. It was late and the streets were empty. When she’d left the house the clock had read midnight, she knew it was a ridiculous time to be showing up announced at someone’s house, but she knew herself well enough to know that if the moment struck her to do something, then that time was the time to do it. 

She apparated to the apparition point Theo had given her. She walked about ten minutes through sparse woods before she saw a cabin in the distance with what looked liked a few lights on. She knew that this was where Draco had been.

Approaching the house she paused, she did a quick scan for any wards that he may have had, but as it turned out, he didn’t have any. She approached the door and then just stood there. There wasn’t a light on in the front room, but it looked as if there was one on in a room in the back part of the house. She hoped he was still awake. It was one thing to have someone visit you in the middle of the night and a complete other to have someone wake you up in the middle of the night. Hermione raised her hand in a fist at the door, hesitated, her hand hanging mid-air, ready to knock, when the door flung open.

Draco stood in the door frame, in his pajamas, with his wand raised. When he saw Hermione he lowered his wand. “Hermione?” he asked puzzled.

“Draco! Hi. I…”

“You do know what time it is, don’t you?”

“Yes, I…”

“You do know I was two seconds away from hexing you?” 

“Yes. Well, I’d intended to knock, but..”

“You were standing there for an awfully long time for someone who planned on knocking...what is it that you’re doing here?”

She reached her hand into her pocket and pulled out the box Theo had given her. She held it out to Draco. “This. Theo gave me this. What is it? What’s it for? Why did you ask him to make me a potion?”

Draco let out a sigh. “Damnit, Theo.” He moved back from his doorway a bit, “Come on in, then.”

He turned on the lights in the living room. This place was a small muggle cabin, and Hermione wondered how long he’d had it and why. As she looked about the room, her back towards Draco, he took a moment to consider her.

She looked hastily thrown together. Her hair was partially wet and completely wild, as if she had jumped right out of the shower. She had thrown on flats, leggings, and a worn-in Weird Sisters t-shirt. She looked, to Draco, just as beautiful as she had a few months ago. His heart ached for her, and he was suddenly struck with how badly he had missed her. 

The first month had been the worst, being away from he and knowing she was dating Theo, but he’d grown numb to his feelings for her, and he was fine living in solace away from everyone and everything. Then a week ago, Theo had found him, tracked him down. Theo had told him that Hermione had broken up with him, but his main purpose in coming to find him was to give him the potion he’d requested so many months ago.

Draco had told Theo that the potion was for Hermione, and he asked Theo to give it to her anonymously. She didn’t need to know it was from him. Clearly though, thought Draco, Theo hadn’t agreed. 

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked her, clearing his throat.

“I’m fine. Thank you. Can you...can you explain the potion? Please, Draco.”

He rubbed his face with both of his hands, as if this deeply distressed him. “Okay. Fine. Have a seat then, yeah?”

Draco eyed Hermione, sitting on the couch, “Don’t look so timid, Hermione. Relax.”

“Relax?” she exclaimed, without actually meaning to, and, before she knew it, she was pouring out her words. 

“You’re telling me to relax? You’ve been gone for three months. I’ve spent the past month trying to get in touch with you. The last I saw you, you...you just left. You didn’t explain anything. You didn’t let me respond. You just left me there. And, you were gone! Just up and gone. And now? Now there’s some potion you had Theo make  _ for me _ long before we’d even reconnected at the hospital. I’m sorry, but I’m about the furthest thing from relaxed, right now.”

“You’re right. I owe you an explanation. I’m not denying that. I just want you to not look so uncomfortable around me.”

“I’m not uncomfortable around you, Draco. I’m nervous, for one, because it’s been so long, and I’m anxious because of everything I just mentioned.”

He nodded in understanding and then very plainly and matter-of-factly said, “The potion is a memory restorative." 

Hermione looked as if she had connected the dots, but also as if she hadn’t connected them at all, “Go on.”

“Over the summer, Potter told me what happened to your parents…”

“It was all over the papers, Draco, how did you not know?”

“I don’t read the papers. They’re vile. But, Potter explained to me what happened. I, shit, Hermione. I’ve felt a sense of obligation to you for years now.”

“Me? Why me? Why not Harry?”

“Because you never did anything wrong, Hermione. I said and did a lot of terrible things to you, and my hatred of you was completely unwarranted and superficial. I never hated you. I hated myself, and it caused terrible things to happen to you -- things I  _ witnessed  _ and those are things I can never forgive myself for. Your parents? That was a problem I felt like I could fix for you. Someway to give you something back that you’d lost.”

Hermione had begun to cry; her tears streaming silently down her face. 

“So, Theo began to work on it, then Theo botched a batch and got himself blown up, and then there you were with your ridiculously concocted lie, and suddenly all I wanted to do was see you, be near you, talk to you, make you laugh. I thought about you all the time, and then Theo woke up, and when Theo told me he’d be an idiot not to try to make things work with you, I realized that I couldn’t lose you, but I didn’t know how you felt, Hermione. I didn’t know if I was just an ally in your lie about Theo, or if you really wanted me around. And, at the same time, I still felt guilty for my past, and I still felt unworthy of you. I  _ felt  _ as if, well, I _ feel _ as if I don’t deserve to be in love with someone like you. Someone like me shouldn’t be allowed the gift of someone like you.'

He let out a long breath, and he felt lighter than he had in months. He didn’t know how she’d respond, but, in a sense, it didn’t really matter to him. He had told her how he felt; he’d told her all that there was. 

She leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. Her cheeks with stained with tears and more were coming. In a very small voice she asked, “The potion...Theo said...he said it was effective…”

“Yes. It’s been given to several other memory loss patients. The memories come back in their dreams; the potion puts the person to sleep, almost immediately. Depending on how many memories are to be restored, in your parents case 18 years worth, determines how long they will sleep. I think from my and Theo’s calculations, they’ll sleep for a solid 12 or so hours. When they wake up, their memories will be restored -- completely.”

She began to cry even harder and choked out the words, “Thank you.” 

Draco got up from his place on his chair and sat next to her on the couch. He wasn’t sure if she wanted him to comfort her, but he drew her into his arms as it were; he needed to comfort her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his chest, soaking the thin material of his t-shirt almost immediately. He buried his nose in her hair and rocked her gently. After twenty minutes or so, her crying had slowed down to the point of stopping. Into his chest, she asked, “You love me?”

With his nosed still buried in her hair he nodded and muttered “Yes” against her hair. 

She sat up and studied his face for a few minutes, “You’re worthy. You’re worthy of so much. I’ll make certain you understand that one day,” she paused and looked down before looking back up at him again, “And, I..I love you as well.” 

Draco felt his eyes fill with tears and he pulled her into his embrace again. 

She pulled away again, “Will you go with me? To Australia, I mean?”

“You don’t want Potter or Weasley to go with you?” 

“No. Not them. You. Only you.”

“We’ll go whenever you’re ready.”

“We’ll have to fly, though. On an airplane. I’m not apparating to Australia. You’ll just have to deal,” she smiled weakly at him, and he laughed, “Fine. Fine. I’ll deal. But I’m booking us first class, alright? My legs are damn near too long; I’ve seen pictures of planes, you know?”

A smile spread across his face as he saw her lips part into a wide smile, her head tilted back in laughter, and her hair cascading down her back.


	10. Chapter 10

**\--December 24th, 2004--**

Hermione sat beside their Christmas tree. Her hair free around her shoulders, falling into her face as she toyed with the ribbon on a gift. Draco watched as the colored lights, the ones they fought over for what seemed like hours, created a luminous rainbow against her hair and created a rouge against her cheek and across the bridge of her nose. 

Looking at her, he understood the colored lights; he understood her argument that they felt more like home. Their glow against her skin created a warmth and comfort within him that he'd never felt in the pristine, but icy, glow of his childhood Christmas tree; he'd never even been allowed as close to it as they both were to their own -- with their knees touching as that sat cross-legged on the floor.

It was late; they’d spent part of their even with Hermione’s parents. They potion had worked perfectly and the memories of both her parents were restored with ease and without any complications. It took some time getting them settled back in the Muggle world of Britain, but Draco and Hermione sorted it all out for them. It was beyond joyous for Hermione to spend Christmas with her parents and having Draco alongside with her made it all the more wonderful. The second half of their evening was spent with the Nott family. Despite all the absurdities of the previous Christmas and what was to follow, everyone still adored Hermione, and they welcomed her into the family, and they were all thrilled to see Draco so happy.

At the beginning of December, Draco moved into Hermione’s flat, and their first major fight had been over not just when to put up the Christmas tree but what color lights to have on it. Hermione, winning, was pleased to find that Draco seemed to really enjoy the colored lights, but she only allowed herself to gloat occasionally.

As they sat on their living room floor next to the tree, Hermione reached up and lightly touched two vials that hung as ornaments on their tree.

“When did you put those there?” he asked. He was still unaccustomed to her mish-mash of ornaments -- muggle ones, wizard ones, ones that didn’t seem like they should be used as ornaments at all, like the vials that had previously held the memory restorative potion

“Last week. Have you not noticed?”

“No, Hermione. Do you see all the things you have on this tree?” 

She laughed at him and shrugged, “I like it like this.”

He cracked a small smile, “I must admit, I like it, too.”

She reached forward and jabbed his arm with her fingers softly, “Told you.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah….” he paused, “You know, what?”

“What?”

“I’m really glad you’re not Hermione Granger-Nott -- pretending or otherwise.”

She laughed, “Oh by Godric, Draco, me too. This Christmas has been much more enjoyable than last -- I’m not entangled in some outrageous faux-engagement while being in love with my faux-fiance’s best friend.” 

He chuckled and leaned forward to kiss her, “Last year had its moments, but this? This is by far the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” 


End file.
